About Making Out
by SkullCracked
Summary: Soul learns NCMO is a thing, Maka doesn't have time for it, and it isn't the container but the soul that matters. Very fluff, slight precursers to SoMa, mostly just drabble.


AN: I do not own Soul Eater, its characters, world, etc. They are the sole property of their wonderful and proper owner. I take artistic liberties with this storyline, though, and I hope that its tame and timid (and badly written) tale can help bring a little distraction to your day!

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The girl down the hall from them has lived in their apartment complex since long before they have. She'd moved in two years before them with her parents, and although she wasn't the butterfly of the complex, flitting from neighbor to neighbor, she still knew most of them at least by sight and a generalized sense of applied personality (such as the guy two floors down who likes paisley way too much because it hides his lazy eye). So when the mysterious Shibusen students move in down the hall from her, she's a little frightened. She's a Death City native and has grown up knowing all about the Demon Weapons and the people born to be their Meisters, the Technicians whose souls were the only ones capable of wielding them. They fight dangerously, live dangerously, and naturally some of that danger has been known to follow such lifestyles home. She's also convinced that all Shibusen-goers are just plain strange and preternatural to begin with.

Soul Eater and Maka Albarn are no exceptions to these worries, with Soul's threatening and bizzarre looks and his badass/juvenile delinquent behavior, and Maka's overpowering presence, ambition and no bullshit lifestyle. So unlike regular teenagers, the both of them. But she becomes accustomed to them in the building, eventually realizing they're both teenagers none-the-less, even if they are a slightly different breed. Mostly she still stayed clear of them and their loud, violent interactions with each other (and occasionally other visiting Meister and Weapon teams), and their weirdly keen-eyed cat.

Over the course of the following year, she's reached a cautious neutrality towards them in her mind, eventually becoming more interested. At first she believes her neighbor's relationship must be similar to that of some sort of marriage, for why else would two teenagers live together without adult supervision or support? But eventually she realizes Maka is no girlfriend to Soul, and that he never seems to have any particularly intimate female friend over at all.

Which, in her hormonal, highschool girl mind, means he's available.

The pair aren't blind, and Maka is far from unsocial. They'd run into several neighbors at one time or another after moving in, making introductions, answering awkward questions, listening to even more awkward (and unwanted) life stories of some of the older, lonelier residents of their building. Soul Eater could care less, since they'd not really met anyone particularly cool, but Maka insisted it was wisest and safest to at least have a feel for one's neighbors. You never knew who or what could lurk beneath the surface, or behind any closed door. Soul was as paranoid as Maka, although his paranoia sprouted more from his drilled and instinctual protectiveness of his Technician, than his awareness of his surroundings - so he left that "wisdom" to his Meister.

Maka notices the girl's attentions towards Soul, and her shift from fearful, to cautious, to curious, to interested. Maka hasn't hit the stage where she cares one whit to experiment in any capacity with that type of behavior, but she certainly recognizes it in other girls - especially those who look at Soul with any interest, as she is his Technician and is very particular and protective of her Weapon. He's _her_ scythe, a rare gene to begin with, and talented to boot - even if he is still infuriatingly _Boy_ , and therefore subject to the restrictions of his rediculous Boy Cool Code. But as much as he is her Demon Weapon, he is still a Person - being a Boy and all - and he still has interests and needs of his own. Social growth is a particular need of his, as Maka has come to understand well enough that even though he's very introverted by nature, it would do him good to recognize that other people would gladly have him branch out to mingle with them.

She knows that Soul's thickly aloof nature certainly hasn't noticed the girl looking at him yet, no matter how sultry (as well as a blooming teenage girl can manage) the looks she sends him. So, one evening Maka sends a look of her own to the girl as she works the key into her and Soul's door, while the girl waits patiently for her parents to open their own. Maka's look is a universal, unspoken Girl language of I Recognize Your Interest In My Friend And I Will Help You Because He's A Moron, and the other girl sends her a bright smile of gratitude. The exchange is concluded for the day and Maka and Soul enter their apartment before the girl and her family manage to get their grocery-laden group over their own threshold.

After a couple days of subliminal messages, and then a couple days of more conspicuous hints, and then an outright innocently curious conversation, Soul gets the hint that the neighbor girl might be looking for a boy to mess around with, and apparently he is quite an attractive catch in her book. Maka has done her job to wake him up to the fact that females outside of their school exist, and are approachable, so she leaves the rest to their neighbor, satisfied that whatever happens happens. She certainly doesn't have the time, interest or energy to spare either herself or her Weapon towards more than that, as they have pre-Kishin to exterminate and a Death Scythe to replace. Soul, however awkwardly, has learned to become exceptionally confident in his Technician and her insane level of ambition (and her power to accomplish it) and so often finds himself with plenty of time to screw around.

Therefore, he is game - once he figures out there is a game to be game for.

The neighbor is his age, but she's filling out very nicely. Puberty has come to bless her with many gifts from Mother Nature, gifts that he's perfectly happy to notice since she's so interested in having them noticed. He comes to find out she wants to experiment with a boy who won't be known around her school but whom she can gloat about, someone no one can prove the existance nor non-existance of, and therefore gives her safety to go all out with investigating this whole Bases business without risking her social standing with an awkward relationship. Soul is cool with whatever, as she's blunt and straightforward, which he likes, and she only touches him as he becomes comfortable and allows her to, which he also likes.

She smells pretty good, and doesn't wear fifty pounds too many of make-up as well, which are more points in her favor. Although, he still notes she does wear more makeup than both Maka and Tsubaki combined, even almost more than Blair - though considerably more clothes than Blair. But he can deal, because the more he hangs out with her, the more attractive she gets and the more she initiates touching in ways that are very welcome. He's not interested in going all the way, and neither is she, but some weeks into the arrangement and they've about covered a good half of the elusive Bases she's been so keen to explore.

Often it happens at her apartment when her folks are out, since he's not at all comfortable bringing her to his home (his Meister's home). He's most comfortable with this because Maka is still close enough for him to reach in an emergency, and far enough that neither partner feels awkward about knowing exactly what's happening behind closed doors. Once in awhile they go on make-out dates to the movies, or something similiar that they can sit and neck in while pretending to be inconspicuous in public, and Soul reserves these times for when he knows Maka will be out with Tsubaki (whom she can wield faintly enough to protect herself until he arrives), or out with the Thompsons (whom can wield each other and give Maka cover fire), or even staying after at the school for Meisters only training campaigns.

Soul has not lacked in his duties as Maka's Weapon, and though he still shirks classes with Black*Star, and still gets in fights around their own school (with Black*Star), and she still pours much of her extra credit grades into his average, Maka has found a certain amusement with his strange relationship with the neighbor girl. They had spent so much time bonding with each other in their own apartment, and around the city, and then training and even bonding time with their very small circle of friends, that Maka finds it objectively cute that Soul has the capacity to lock lips with someone so otherwise unattached to them.

She's a little weirded out by the whole affair as well, but that's only because she's Maka Albarn; her worldview of relationships and males in general was pretty skewed to begin with, due to her legacy as a Death Child, and her own parents' failure of a marriage. Relationships just worked differently for Technicians and Demon Weapons than for everyday citizens, whose lives weren't on the line against supernatural evils the rest of humanity would sooner forget existed.

And men were pigs by nature, so she finds it a little disconcerting that for all intents and purposes there is a girl right next door to her that is partaking in practices almost no better than her own father's (albeit, far less sexual). She understands that girls like to make-out and experiment with needs too, that's natural, but its still _weird_. Maybe she's weird. She has the urge too, but again, she doesn't have the urge to find a boy to waste the time (and the urge) on. Maybe that's why she finds it so odd - that other girls have the time (and the urge) to waste on boys when there are far more important priorities to accomplish first. For the upteenth time in her life, she's happy she was born a Technician.

About a month into the arrangement, Soul has a hefty number of make-out and heavy petting sessions under his belt, as well as all the bad jokes and terribly uncool inuendos Black*Star could possibly come up with, and Soul's beginning to realize its just not as fun as it was at the beginning. When they had first started, Soul was getting tiny jolts of adrenaline similar to the normal wattage that he felt everytime Maka decided to steal his shirts (or occasionally his boxers) to wear around the apartment, or during their deeper bonding moments, but as the sessions continued on, the jolts faded. He still feels that same buzz of electricity in his blood, and faintly in his soul, when he sees Maka in his clothes when its her turn to do laundry though, so he wonders what the trick is.

It can't be that he's gotten used to his neighbor, because he's beyond used to Maka. It occurs to him that as cool and exciting as it has been to experiment with the neighbor, its not like she ever _truly_ lit his fire to begin with. Not like he thought she would, since seriously, he's a hot-blooded cool guy and she's a pretty hot girl, so where's the spark? But it had never actually come. If anything's simmered down for her, she doesn't show it, so he still goes over to fool around but he's not going over quite as frequently as before.

Instead, he ups his missions and training times with Maka, and his bonding (hanging out in their pajamas, dead-tired after training) with her at the their own apartment. Its during one of these bonding evenings that the very faint echoes of a revelation begins to tickle his inner ears, like the faint tinkling of a far off wind chime. They're both sprawled on one of their small couches in their small living room, barely having made it to their rooms to change their clothes after a grueling day. They both need showers, but that requires too much energy and muscle strength that they just don't have at the moment. It isn't as though they're not both obscenely intimate with each other's obscene b.o. by this point, anyway. Instead, dog-tired and not even having had the ability to turn on any lights in the apartment, they collapsed barely dressed on the couch to watch a DVD they'd rented and put off from three days ago.

She's wearing a half tank-top thing that barely passes as questionably some sort of sports bra, and (yet again) a pair of his boxers he's been looking for since last week. Currently from her position, said boxers are riding up her thighs - like everything else she wears - as her legs prop sprawled on top of the coffee table in front of them, her gangly ankles and slightly big (for her size) feet on full display. He grins with exhaustion-drunkenness, wondering why its funny that instead of having cleavage to throw around, she's got thighs that the universe enjoys showing off for her. He's managed to blindly dress himself in an actual undershirt and a pair of his flannel sleep pants, sans his own underwear because he just needed to friggin' breathe for the night. Maka was half dead to the world, she'd never notice.

He's wedged himself into the end of the couch against the armrest, one arm thrown over the back of the couch and legs splayed open to support both his own reclining position and his Meister, who's pressed into his side and already snoozing lightly with her head lolled on his shoulder. He remembers when being even half this close took considerable effort on both their parts, even in the privacy of their own home. Now, it took considerable effort not to be sprawled near each other in some fashion while in the relative safety of their apartment. Soul is zoned from the movie, which is nearly over soon, vaguely aware of how badly his shoulders and back ache with stiffness from holding his form and their Resonance so long this afternoon.

But Maka's own screaming muscles and dark bruises are so palpable next to him that he doesn't feel any urge to actually complain, definitely doesn't have an urge to disturb her unintentional nap. He's considering falling asleep and napping through the approaching dinner time (because its his turn to cook) when suddenly his cell phone goes off from his pocket. The annoying noise cuts through the air like a siren, and he blurts a manly choke-growl as he digs frantically into the shallow pocket wedged next to the armrest. He whips it out in record time to stop the awful noise before it wakes Maka, and as he gruffly grunts his attention into the phone he's silently thankful it doesn't seem to have bothered his partner.

Its the neighbor girl, inviting him over for some dinner, but mostly _dessert,_ while her parents are out with friends.

He almost gets a stirring of inspiration through his fatigue at the prospect of uninterrupted NCMO time with the cute chick down the hall. She's pretty keen when he uses his fingers on her plump rear, one of the few things that's kept him from stopping their meetings all together, but then he reconsiders as he watches Maka shift into his neck. The neighbor is still hot, and great to hold and touch, but she still doesn't light that fire in him that he's looking for. And she doesn't let him use his teeth, something he really wants to do, wants to learn how many ways he could be gentle and pleasurably rough. She also still complains that he drools too much, and doesn't often let him use his tongue as much as he'd like, either, despite how far they've gotten.

He rumbles a thoughtful hum into the phone as a space-holder while Maka's arm falls from her belly to the non-existant space between their thighs, and it doesn't take another second thought for him to conclude that no, tonight he is way too tired, and way too comfortable with his partner pressed against him to go through the effort of redressing for what would become a sub par make-out session because of his growing disinterest and aching back.

Said partner is slowly returning to consciousness next to him as he grumbles into the phone, barely coherently, "Nah, not tonight, sorry."

At the sound of actual words, Maka seems to come to, stretching and flexing her sore legs over the coffee table and bending forward to stretch her bruised arms over her legs, pressing into, against, and stretching away from, and back towards Soul in the process. Soul absently watches muscles he's all too familiar with contract and relax in her thighs and calves as he absently answers the softly chattering girl on the phone.

"Yeah, some other time, busy tonight. Yeah, see ya."

"W's s'zat?" Maka slurs, and Soul looks at her like looking at questionably offensive modern art, trying to decipher any language in those noises as he hits the end button on his call, and Maka groggily reaches for his phone still held loosly in his fingers. She's still slurring sleep hazed exhaustion speech as she mutters "Tsubaki?" in the general direction of the mouthpiece. She gets his phone from him without a fight because he's too offended at her temporary inability to speak good.

"'Baki? What're you calling for? Hello?"

She stares at the phone, hardly more awake than when she started, and then stares confused and annoyed at Soul as he takes his cell back with an amused quirk of lips and eyebrow.

"She hung up on me?"

"Wasn't Tsubaki, Nerdlord." He tells her as he drops his cell on the coffee table and she flops her head back against his arm still draped over the back of the couch. She grumbles something that can be loosely translated into Who was it then?

"Someone wanted me to hang out." He stretches one-armed so as not to jostle her probably aching head, and surruptiously reaches down to adjust his crotch and shift his legs more comfortably while her eyes are closed. They both know he does it, as they'd both accepted early on that as a Boy he needed to do it, and she appreciates that he saves it for when she's not looking or is as minimally aware of it as possible.

"Told 'em I'm busy." He finishes his statement as he settles again.

"But you're not?" She sort of asks, as she lifts her head to look at the movie he'd been zoning out to for the last two hours, now rolling red-scrawled credits on the screen.

"Some of us are actually watching the movie we rented, Sleeping Beauty."

Her face scrunches and he already hears the sarcasm about to come out of her, holding back his grin. "Oh, goodness, your schedule is so loaded, no wonder you can't hang out. How will you ever have time for dinner?"

"Its called take out."

"Soul! Its your turn to cook! I don't want take out again, stop wasting money and just cook something!"

"I _am_ cooking. Take out."

His arm comes down across her shoulders and he pokes her nose with his other hand as his deep voice interrupts her retort, "By the time it gets here, it'll be cold. I'll have to reheat it." He says this as if it validates his cooking claim, leaning forward to grab his cell phone again and dials their favorite joint. His Meister sucks in an annoyed breath, scrubbing her hands over her face tiredly and purposefully elbowing him in the ribs in the process as she exclaims, "Ugh, I am so burnt out from today! Fine, I don't care!"

He just grins at her, showing that faint hint of sharp teeth and curling his lip to hold back drool she knows he can't quite contain - that puppy jaw still hasn't grown into the shark's teeth its supposed to be housing. She wants to be more irked with him, he burns dinner half the time he cooks and just orders out the other half, but she's sore all over and knows he's sore all over, and he looks so tiredly content and smug as he orders all her favorites that she just can't hold it against him this time. Maybe next time. She stands drowsily to go make up drinks and grab paper towels to prepare for dinner's arrival and Soul finishes the orders and hangs up, changing out the DVD for another one. She notes to herself to return it tomorrow and wonders if he enjoyed any of it, or if he was so tired he might as well have just slept with his eyes open while it played. That's certainly what it seemed like.

She certainly slept with her eyes closed, and she was ready to go back to sleep again, even as her stomach gurgled impatiently.

"So who wanted to hang out?" She asks with a yawn as she hands him a pop, sitting back down next to him with her own and curling her legs beneath her bottom on the cushion. He opened his can with a shrug and took a loud gulp before answering.

"Girl next door." His tone sounded authenticaly resigned, and Maka was almost a little surprised.

"You don't want to go hang out with Girl Next Door?" She asked curiously. Had they had a tiff?

"Nah. Not into it." He shrugs again.

The movie he'd put in was an older one, and the previews for other DVDs were yammering away merrily in the background as Maka gave her attention to Soul's generalized answer. She knew him well enough by now to understand that he was not just not into it tonight, but it seemed in general. This was news to her, she wondered what changed.

"What's the matter? The magic fading?" She teased.

He leered at her, showing his teeth again but it was slightly diminished as he slurped back the drool that he'd been ignoring and then slurped more pop from his can. He shrugged again instead.

"Yeah, just. Still cool but just not as exciting? She's reached her comfort level and she doesn't wanna let me - its cool, just not into it."

Maka tilts her head, trying to assess his unsaid revelation. She knew he didn't want to go all the way. They had awkwardly (very awkwardly) covered that in an earlier conversation about the whole thing. Maybe he'd changed his mind? Eck, _boys_. She held her temper back in favor of remembering that he was her Weapon and friend first. Boy was really only in there when he was acting unfavorably.

"Doesn't want to let you...?" She tries to encourage him to open up.

He licks his lips and breathes through his nose, slouching into the back of the couch under her gaze darkened by the harsh light of the TV in the dim room. His eyes were squinted with concentration, trying to find the words and muster the will to be cool enough to admit anything to her. They could feel the hesitation in each other, that powerful empathy coming into play again. She was hesitant to push him, he was hesitant to fall further into the already terrifyingly absolute trust he had in her. He stuck his finger into the side of his mouth and crooked it at her, not looking at her with his eyes.

"She doesn't like my teeth. I mean, she doesn't not like them, just doesn't like them enough to let me.. y'know, use 'em."

He slurps again, wiping his finger on his shirt, making Maka roll her eyes. At least he didn't try to wipe it on her; God knows he's done _that_ often enough, trying to get a rise out of her when she nags him. "She doesn't like the drooling, either." He echoed along the lines of her thoughts, flicking red eyes to her.

She pursed her lips in understanding, realizing these were probably definately important make-out issues for him. Maka had enjoyed his teeth from the first time she saw them, and had long become accustomed to the drool factor. Again, his jaw was still growing into the teeth they were housing. He had all his adult fangs, now his face needed to catch up with them, and in the process, drool was to be expected. It wasn't like he let it dribble everywhere like some bulldog. Sometimes it even added to his appeal as a Weapon, adding that extra spark of deranged aesthetic for her enemies to take caution from. To her Death Child sensibilities, his teeth and, to a certain extent, even his slobber, were relatively hot.

Though, she supposed that for a civilian teenage girl, such a mouth was probably a little more than could be typically handled. Sure his threatening grin was cool and attractive to look at, but most regular girls would probably not take into consideration that they would have to slow down and learn to be conscious of his pointed teeth, to let him take his time to learn to use them and be objectively accepting of his over-abundant saliva.

This was one of those times where the glimpses of his calm, mature thought processes and meticulous nature stirred her heart with those stupid electric jolts that always made her adrenaline flow. He had clearly reached an acceptance without insult of his situaiton, and was simply - as a young adult - making a conscious decision to not partake in something that wasn't enjoyable for himself, without hurting either party in the process. Maka was so proud of him.

And also a little annoyed with her neighbor.

"Its not like you're going to try take a bite out of her. And you can't help how much you drool, your teeth still take up too much room in your jaw right now."

Soul gave her a look from under his white fringe, swiping his tongue along the side of his mouth and trying to pretend he wasn't. She had a point, but he hated when she pointed out that he hadn't finished filling in as a man yet. It was a point of manly pride, after all. But so was the fact that there was potential to have a more attractive jawline sometime in the future. Maka was smart, and could see long-term outcomes when she put her mind to it. He took it as a good sign that she saw in the long term that he would have a more "filled out jaw" by the time his growth spurts were done. The doorbell interrupted them and Soul went to fetch their food, taking it to the kitchen to begin the reheating ritual. How anything got cold from the joint to their apartment in the Death City heat still boggled his mind. He was a little afraid to question it.

He tossed her a couple more cans from the fridge as he rotated all the food, making sure everything came out all right.

"What, would you let me slobber all over you and chew on you like a starving vampire?"

Maka grimaced as Soul brought back the last of the warmed up take out and they both settled in to pig out.

"Ew! No, I'm just saying if I had a similar arrangement with someone like you, I would have no problem experimenting alongside you with your unique teeth, and I would have already taken your over-productive saliva into account and prepared myself for it."

She opened a tub and split her cheap chopsticks, digging in with a muffled comment he wasn't worried about interpreting. She clearly wasn't in the mood for manners tonight, and he watched with amusement as she simply let herself go, too tired and intent on the conversation to care as she shovelled back her food.

"I would probably make you swallow more often than an average boy, but I certainly wouldn't tell you you had to hold back completely. That wouldn't be fair, or as interesting."

He slurps his own noodles into his mouth as it occurs to him that that's kind of a cool answer, even as he realizes he hadn't actually expected anything less from his unusual Meister. Fickle, and prudent, and hot-tempered as she was, she was a pretty open and accepting type of heart underneath. She watches his thoughtful silence for a moment, blinking as he fishes out shrimp from his noodles. In an almost fluid movement, he swings his hand towards his mouth as his tongue joyfully coils out to snatch the shrimp from the chopsticks practicaly before they can reach his lips. His tongue isn't quite as unusual as his teeth or his eyes, but it is at least a couple inches longer than any average person's. This brings out another curiosity about one of the fundamentals of making out.

"What does she think of your tongue?" Maka asks curiously, starting on her second carton. Soul chokes a little and gives her hard look before it becomes more thoughtful, then morphs back into indifference.

"I didn't really get to use it much." He answers simply. "Teeth and drool, remember? Most of everything was all lips, and a little of her tongue."

Maka is nearly incredulous as he goes back to eating, halfway through his own second carton. What was the point of all that dry-humping without tongue to go with it? Wasn't that, like, part of the "dirty" appeal? Even Maka knew this.

"Your tongue _must_ be able to do some seriously interesting things, and she passes on that because of a little extra spit? Boy, you sure know how to pick some winners."

He's incredulously torn between being offended because their neighbor is perfectly cool, hot make-out material, and avoiding total brain shut-down because of her tongue comment. Part of that last issue is because its kind of hot, but _that_ causes problems because she's his tomboy, _not hot_ Technician Maka Albarn. She doesn't seem to be aware of his crumbling reality as she continues almost flippantly, "I wouldn't keep such an arrangement in your shoes, you don't seem to be getting as much from it. She must have something great to play with to keep you busy."

He does not splutter, because spluttering is uncool. Maka glares at him for the spit that comes out of his mouth anyway. He struggles to recover before he starts to actually blush in the dim light from the unwatched movie, and start to sound awkward; that would just destroy what was still a mostly enjoyable evening with his weird Girl friend.

"What, like you've got so much to play with?" He sneers teasingly. "That's cool you'd let a guy like me slobber on you, if there was anything to slobber on.. "

Ah ha! Coolness recovered, awkwardness averted.

Danger imminent.

Maka's chopsticks whip up to his face in a flash too quick to dodge in the TV's light, snapping onto his nose and _twisting_ with a force he knows would've busted them in less skillful hands.

"OY - yi - i-i-i!" He rumbles gutterally at the sting as she bares her little teeth at him furiously.

"I would never let _any_ guy slobber on me, _period_!" She rages. She'd managed to pull his face to her's, via the chopsticks, and she was glaring down into his red eyes with burning greens thanks to her superior vantage point, as she forced his head downwards to avoid his sensitive shnoze being twisted off completely. She'd angled badly, though, he notices, as she's practically got his face in her (mostly) flat chest. She would _not_ be amused if he drooled on her in this situation, but he was so tempted to do it anyway out of spite.

 _He_ would be greatly amused. And then probably castrated.

"And whatever I do have to be slobbered on, does not bear argument with you in the first place!"

She gives his nose one more good hard twist, forcing his head back against the couch behind them. It was a testament to both of their inhuman skills that none of their food had been kicked or tossed around the room in the scuffle. It never ceased to awe and amaze him the monstrosity that was his Technician and her ability to wield him - _no matter his form_ \- to a degree that would make a lesser man indignant. He found it a tribute to his Weapon heritage and their partnership that he was _proud_ of her for it, strange Girl Mood Swings and all.

This is what he missed out on while he was half-heartedly sucking face with a neighbor who didn't appreciate his unique offerings half as much as his friend and team mate, who wasn't even interested in using him for anything other than his motorcycle and occassionally showing up her gigalo pops?

The faint, far off tinkling of ghost wind chimes can vaguely be heard in his inner ear again.

"Oi, Maka." He growls, holding his tender nose and putting his food on the table. She puts her food and current weapons on the table as well, but still glares in amusement at him.

"You can't treat me like that," he continues, trying to hold a scowl, "'S'abuse! Don't make me take my shorts back, been lookin' for those all week anyway!"

She snorts and crosses her arms in challenge, tiny breasts smooshed together beneath the questionably-a-sports-bra-tank-top thing.

"You wouldn't," she replies factually, "I only have panties underneath, no one wants to see that!"

She sticks her tongue out and he grins widely, waggling his long fingers towards her.

"You dare me?" He taunts.

Maka squints at him dangerously, her blood already rising for a fight, electric adrenaline stirring unasked through her soul. He wouldn't. He wouldn't, because he knows he wouldn't walk straight for a week, and _not_ in the good way like when he comes back from a really amorous time at the neighbor's. But he's still grinning, and he shlurps drool back into his mouth between those big, sharp teeth that started this whole mess as bright, red eyes glint at her mischieviously and its the only warning she gets. She braces herself for anything just miliseconds before he pounces and she squeals, too loud, whacking him in the head too softly to do any real harm.

Rough-housing has long been a bonding excersise for them, and even though neither of them really _needs_ to pull their punches on the other, they still do in the spirit of the game. Long, deceptively strong fingers find her over-exposed sides and underarms and the backs of her knees, skillfully tickling for all their owner is worth. She's not greatly ticklish, but its the excitement of the game and the joy of the wrestling and the challenge that encourages her snorts and laughs, his own chuffs and happy grunts joining in as she lands expertly placed blows on his own exposed sides and head. He's a little more ticklish in some places than she is, and she doesn't have any qualms about introducing submission holds into the fray in order to take full advantage of this fact.

The game almost ends prematurely as they both collide off the couch and into the coffee table from the floor, food and pop nearly spilling over the edges. But the mess is saved, and the table pushed to a safe distance in front of one of the side chairs, and the game resumes with vigor that neither had when they'd gotten home. Their second wind in full swing, their tickling soon turns to submission holds and wrestling, trying to best each other and force the other into exhaustion again - or laughter induced puking, whichever comes first. They're all limbs and wiry muscles, uncontained drool, bad b.o., and badly needed innocent stress relief from too-early maturity that lurks incessantly at the backs of their minds as they live the deadly lives of Death's Tools.

He's still half-heartedly trying to get her (his!) boxers off, and she squeals delightfully high pitched and too loud everytime he comes close to succeeding. Both can sense the heightened endorphines and happiness between them, with no edges of embarrassment or shame to jag the fun, so he continues his self-imposed dare, both of them laughing and running out of air as bruises and sore muslces begin to ache from exertion again. He loves her warmth and hard muslces under his hands, the skin soft and becoming a little grimey from new sweat refreshing the dried sweat that hadn't been washed off of either of them yet. She smells like dinner and her own scent, heavy from previous excercise and deodorant that had worn off hours ago. She loves the same about him, his familiar, gross boy smell invading her nose as she grapples him into a head lock that isn't serious enough to actually accomplish anything, especially as her inner elbow slips over the slobber on his chin.

She manages to rip his undershirt half-accidentally after he manages to crack her head accidentally against the couch in one of his nearly-successful passes for his boxers that're still firmly (how, he doesn't know, since they're at least two sizes too big) attached to her stubborn, narrow hips. He's still chuffing, grunting and chuckling happily while she still screeches between her own growls and giggles, trying to evade his traitorous hands and simultaneously land some sort of hold to make him tap out to her.

Finally, he gets her pinned under his torso and leans his full weight onto her, pressing her chest into the rug and using one of his legs propped up on the couch cushions for leverage to keep her down. She writhes and bucks wildly, but he tears her (his!) boxers down her hips until they're practically down her thighs, and she squeals bloody murder between gales of shrieking laughter. He's got them down to her shins before she manages to dislodge his leg from the couch, causing him to lose his leverage and she flips him in a flash, pressing his face into the carpet and somehow his (her!) boxers are beneath his face, blinding him with their blue polka dots.

Maka collapses unashamed on his back (he can't see her panties, so she doesn't see any harm if she just _breathes_ for a minute), and they're both panting like people who've never heard of the concept of air until there wasn't any. Soul's sensitive nose is filled with an intense scent, not at all unpleasant but suspiciously familiar in a multitude of ways that his blithely playful mind is stuttering at attempting to decipher after all the grappling.

But just as suddenly, they both seem to register a thick pounding coming from the floor beneath them, and the whole room goes deathly quiet save for the DVD still playing on their unwatched TV. They both start breathing again as they realize their downstairs neighbor has apparently been beating on their ceiling in an attempt to tell Maka and Soul in a lazy, neighborly fashion, to shut the fuck up. Maka breaks out into snorting giggles, taking three deep breaths before she can muster the energy to finally stand from Soul's sharp but comfortable back. She glances down at him, ripped open shirt and still huffing triumphantly into the boxers he managed to acquire from her hips (he won! Hell yeah!) and rolls her eyes with a wide smile.

"I'm taking a shower and going to bed. You cooked, so you clean." She grins to him. He just kind of nods in a daze and she escapes to the bathroom before he can register what just happened.

"Maka!" He calls to her, too late, and realizes he just agreed to do dishes, even though there mostly weren't any. Well, at least take out leftovers can just go straight in the fridge, and the trash wasn't too bad. All and all, he got off pretty easy; no cooking, no mess. He's not really focused on these thoughts as much as he just kind of lets them run on auto-pilot. He's still trying to figure out this new smell he's got lodged in his nose; he kind of wants more of it, but he's kind of confused why he thinks it should have something to do with making-out. Or heavy petting. Or maybe even third base...

Its not until memories of what third base entails and the realization that he's actually half hard, does he realize he's still laying with his face pressed into the boxers that Maka had been wearing all night. And then his gut lights afire in a way that is as much pleasant as it is nauseating. He's a little creeped out by himself, he's practically sniffing his roommate's panties, for all intents and purposes. But that sensation in his gut... that's what he should've been feeling everytime he got together with their neighbor, he scowls. Maybe its a smell thing. Maybe its that pheromone thing everyone likes to throw around. The term "good chemistry" isn't used in regards to couples just because it sounds cool. It is an actual thing.

That doesn't help.

It shouldn't be _any_ kind of actual thing that he has _that_ kind of chemistry with his Meister. Shit.

He dubiously snatches the boxers form under his face and gets up to dump them into the washer, adjusting his chub as he moves. He tries to attribute his half-mast state to the natural occurances that often cause it these days, a natural result of a satisfied soul, a happy heart, playful exertion and the apparently mouth-watering pheromones of his friggin' Technician. Shit again. Coming back to the living room he sets to gathering up the take out containers to sort into the fridge and trash. He tidies up, turning off the TV and setting the coffee table back where it goes. Maka's out of the shower by then, so he grabs his towel from his room and takes a lukewarm shower for himself. He spends the rest of the night before he passes out (still pleasantly exhausted) fretting over how much he wants to smell his Meister more, and how the smell stirs his blood.

Two weeks later, the scene replays itself with only a few edits to the scripts. He's long since broken off his arrangement with the neighbor, her walking away disappointed but otherwise unchanged, him happy for the experience but otherwise mostly unaffected. Maka is wedged into his side again, this time wearing her own sleep shorts that are three times smaller than anything he owns - including his socks - and that stupid whatever-the-fuck-excuse-for-a-top thing again. They've consumed their take out and are veging contently in front of the television, banter at a lull for the moment. His arm is slung across the back of the couch once more, lazily almost resting over her shoulders. Blair was home tonight, snoozing on Maka's bed last they knew, and thankfully being a well-behaved kitty for once.

School's been hectic since the last time they'd just chilled like this, with missions in between as they worked their second round to collect his ninety-nine souls. Even though they're showered this time, he's oddly more aware of her scent and the heat emanating from her so close to him as he discretely slurps drool from the corner of his mouth. He eyes her as if she's done something to him personally, which in a manner of speaking she has, but she doesn't know this and eyes him back for a moment. He's planning something, or planning to say something, she can see it and feel it coming. She knows all his tells.

Except maybe she doesn't, and he's pretty proud of himself for catching her off guard and even more proud that he's only mostly joking when he asks her in a deadpan, "So, wanna make-out before bed?"

Being a Demon Weapon, he will survive the concussion, and he takes it as a flattering signal that she avoided maiming anything below the belt. There might be hope for the future, yet.


End file.
